A Hard Day's Trivia Night
by bethamphetamine
Summary: Inpired by my own Lynda-like attitude to quiz nights, the Junior Gazette assemble a table together to compete for victory at the Norbridge Community College Trivia Night.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This story is anachronistic/AU, set a little while after the paper goes commercial but featuring the entire main cast. Spike and Lynda are on one of their "breaks". I tried to massage the canon timelines but nothing was really working for me and I couldn't squeeze it in while they were still at school. As a purist, this has really bothered me but I can't think of a way around it yet! Basically all it means is that the main cast are all together when they shouldn't be.

Fun Fact: the questions featured in the trivia night were all real ones I included in a trivia night I helped run in 2009. The tie-breaker round is also real, but was used for bonus points instead of a tie-breaker.

* * *

Kenny and Spike were in the Junior Gazette's meeting room, hunched over papers and folders and files spread out over the table. The casual observer would deduce this was Serious Business. As far as the casual observer knew, Spike was getting a warm-up reprimand from Kenny while Lynda was engaged in meetings at the Gazette office with Matt Kerr. The casual observer might even feel sympathy for the beleaguered Spike as it looked like even the mild-mannered Kenny wasn't pulling any punches and Lynda could only take it further from there.

"Now, Spike," said Kenny, sternly. "This will be a tough one for you to answer. I want you to think long and hard about it before just rattling off some flippant response."

"Gotcha," replied Spike, solemnly.

"This is serious."

"Understood."

"You can't just go on putting all your energy into music and films, you know. Am I making myself clear?"

"Crystal."

"Alright," Kenny paused for effect. "In what year did King Edward VIII abdicate from the throne?"

"Aw, come on!" Spike whined.

"Think!"

"Uhhh . . . 1936."

"Was that a guess?"

"What, I gotta show my sums? Is it right or not?"

"1936 is . . . correct!"

"Yes!" Spike punched the air. "Okay, my turn." He flipped through the quiz book. "Oh, man, this one is easy. How many balls on the table in a game of eight-ball?"

Kenny rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Is this a trick question?"

"Obviously you didn't spend your formative years in bars and pool halls," Spike said, sarcastically.

"More like churches and Scout halls," replied Kenny, cheerfully. "I don't know. Fourteen?"

"Sweet sixteen. Including the cue ball," Spike mimed playing a shot with his pencil and a balled up piece of paper. "Seven ball, corner pocket. Bam!"

"Apropos to nothing," Kenny said, neatly catching the paper ball, "Do you really think she won't find out?"

"Apro-to what? Nah. How could she possibly know? I threatened everyone personally!"

"And we're not scared of her, are we?" Kenny asked, grinning.

"Pfft!" Spike snorted. "Hardly."

The door opened suddenly and both boys all but dived under the table, only to relax when a small blonde figure poked her head into the room.

"Tiddler! Don't they teach knocking in the lower forms anymore?" Kenny asked, once composed.

"Of course," replied Tiddler, leaning against the doorframe. "I failed though."

"Whaddya want, kiddo?" Spike asked.

"Cash. You're the only one who hasn't paid yet. Can I get your five quid for the – what?" Tiddler broke off. Kenny and Spike were making faces and "cut-it!" gestures. "What is it?"

Spike made discreet devil horns with his fingers and Tiddler's eyes widened in horror as she turned around slowly.

"Five quid for what?" Lynda was standing behind her, looking interested. "No, don't tell me . . ."

"That was the idea," muttered Kenny, glaring as much as Kenny could glare at Tiddler.

" . . . they finally announced a stupidity tax. Shall I arrange for Colin to do a weekly direct debit out of your pay, Spike?"

Spike smiled. "Actually, it's for priority access to the bathroom. Seems reasonable."

"I'll – um – catch up with you later, Spike," Tiddler said, hoping to sidle away undetected.

"Aren't you meant to be in with Kerr?" Kenny asked Lynda, trying to create a diversion. "For the next three hours?"

"Breaking news at the courthouse. Chrissie wasn't around so he dropped me. I came over to tell Sarah to get down there and see if we can't get an angle."

"Right, right," Kenny nodded. "That's the Milligan case, isn't it?" he asked, hoping the subject was changed.

"Yeah. Is there a collection going around? I haven't paid anything," Lynda continued with the original line of questioning.

"No, no," said Tiddler, breezily. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Nothing," Lynda nodded. "So that bright yellow piece of paper you just stuffed down the back of your trousers is presumably to do with nothing?"

"Hey, I've been tellin' ya since the start, Boss – the toilet paper in the john is terrible!" Spike joked.

"Take it up with Colin, he sources the sundries," replied Lynda. "He gets a good price."

"Yeah. He gets a good price because he buys three ply roll and then picks it apart to make it last twice as long," Spike replied, dryly.

"Well, you're welcome to bring in your own supply," retorted Lynda. "I didn't realise you were so . . . sensitive."

Tiddler had been inching away during this exchange, hoping Spike would distract Lynda long enough for her to make an escape. Lynda made as if to go into the meeting room to continue the battle but feinted left suddenly, snatching the paper out of Tiddler's waistband and smoothing out the creases to read.

"'Norbridge Community College Trivia Night'?" Lynda looked up from the flyer, puzzled. "What's the big secret?"

Tiddler cast an agonised glance at Spike and Kenny. She muttered, "Sorry guys. You're on your own," and bolted.

Lynda was still looking confused. "Why all the mystery? It's just a trivia night. Are we getting a table together?"

"Oh, err, you know, we were thinking about it, but we couldn't get enough people interested," replied Kenny, vaguely.

Lynda turned the page over. On the back were two hand-drawn columns with a list of names and PAID next to all but Spike.

"Let's see. We've got Spike, Kenny, Tiddler, Frazz . . . Frazz?" She looked up incredulously. Kenny shrugged helplessly. ". . . Julie, Colin, Kate and Sarah." She turned the page back over. " 'Tables of eight', it says."

Kenny and Spike exchanged glances.

"We didn't think you'd be interested," Spike finally said, lamely.

"Why not? I love trivia nights. Kenny, you know that!"

Kenny looked uncomfortable. "It's just that . . . after the last one up at the school . . . I thought . . ."

"That was different," Lynda said, immediately. "That was an example of gross misconduct on behalf of the frankly useless organisers. I mean, honestly."

"Lynda . . ."

"You were allowed to protest!"

"That's true," Kenny said to Spike. "Although the preferred method of lodging a protest was to pay 50p and plead your case to the judges. Not overturning a table and throwing chairs across the room."

"Don't exaggerate," said Lynda, crisply. "It was only one chair."

Spike chuckled. "Only you could turn a trivia night into a contact sport, Boss."

"And the judges! Honestly, where did they pull their questions from? That one about the Soviet Union, do you remember?"

"How could I forget?" Kenny replied wryly. "Especially when you left and returned with the S volume of the Encyclopaedia Britannica – which is one of the larger volumes in the series - and slammed it down in front of poor old Miss Halloway. She jumped every time someone dropped a book near her after that."

"Miss Halloway? Didn't she work in the library?" Spike asked.

Kenny nodded. "You can see how that would have been somewhat of a occupational hazard. Then, when the poor old dear couldn't locate the bit Lynda was frothing at . . ."

Lynda rolled her eyes.

". . . Lynda tore out the page and drew a big ring around it."

"I bought them a new one. They ought to have been grateful! The old one was wrecked, anyway."

"Especially after you skewered the page to the book with her pen."

Lynda shrugged. "That was a long time ago. Move on, can't you?"

"Miss Halloway had to move on," Kenny continued to Spike. "To the Rest Home for the Permanently Traumatised, if I'm not mistaken."

"I've heard of that place," Spike smirked. "They got a whole Lynda Day ward there, right? I've considered becoming an outpatient."

"Don't be ridiculous, she moved to Sherrington. And you're making me in-patient, right now," Lynda said dryly.

"A joke! Call the Rest Home!" Spike clutched his chest dramatically.

"Do shut up, Spike. Anyway, can I be on the team?" Lynda asked Kenny. "Go on, I'd be a good addition."

"We've already got eight people," Kenny pointed out.

"Oh, right," Lynda scanned the names briefly and then nodded. "Err, fair enough. Let me know if there's a vacancy – I don't mind being a fill-in." She dropped the poster on the table and headed out of the meeting room.

Kenny and Spike looked at each ruefully.

"Do you want to take bets on this?" Spike asked.

"I don't think I'd have enough time to figure out the odds," Kenny replied.

"Go on. How long do you give her?"

Kenny looked at his watch. "Let's see, it's quarter past twelve now. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six . . ."

"Kenny?"

"Hi, Kate," replied Kenny, without looking around. "Let me guess, pulling out of the trivia night?"

"Ermm, really sorry," she muttered. "I've got to errmm . . . "

"Never mind," Kenny sighed. "We've got a reserve."

Shortly after, Lynda reappeared at the door.

"Did Kate tell you? She's had to pull out of the trivia night."

"She did," replied Kenny. "How did you do it – Chinese burn? Threaten her dog? Dock her pay? It was swift, I'll give you that. Even for you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lynda replied huffily. "You should be grateful I'm happy to step in at short notice. Now, let's talk strategy!"


	2. Chapter 2

The Junior Gazette trivia team sat in the meeting room as Lynda stood at the whiteboard.

"Now, we've got a good mix of people on the team," she said. "Let's go through the core capabilities and identify the overlaps." She began writing on the whiteboard. "Spike, films and music. Frazz, sports and TV. Kenny, music and history. Julie, pop culture and celebrity rubbish. Sarah and I, arts and literature. Colin, politics and economics. Tiddler, youth stuff and geography. " I've been doing some research, asking some people, making some calls. As far as I have been able to tell, the questions at this particular trivia night are technical, high-brow and quite difficult. So Frazz, Spike - try and make yourselves useful. No passengers." She capped the whiteboard marker. "Questions?"

"Boss, I'm honoured," Spike drawled. "It's the first time you've ever recognised my – what was it?" He made quote fingers around the words, "Core capabilities."

"Well, everyone has a hidden talent," Lynda replied, patronisingly. "Some more hidden than others. And I'm pretty sure they won't be giving points for good hair."

"Well, that wouldn't be fair, would it," Spike winked at Tiddler, who giggled. "I've got an unfair advantage."

Lynda pulled out a stack of photocopies.

"Here are some sample questions from standard categories that we might expect. If you have any others, feel free to add them." She began passing them around. "Can I also suggest someone goes to the library and borrows the latest Guinness Book of World Records?"

"I can do that tomorrow," Sarah said.

"Good. Thanks, Sarah. And we should also be watching some quiz shows on TV. The Weakest Link, things like that."

"World of Sports," Frazz supplied.

"Good, Frazz. And of course, reading the paper. Current affairs are usually very popular in this kind of thing."

"Magazines," supplied Julie. "I've got loads if anyone wants to borrow them."

"So have I," added Spike. "As long as I get them back before my Dad realises they're missing."

Frazz, Colin and Kenny chuckled.

"Cars are important too," Kenny added solemnly. "Better watch Top Gear as well."

"Can we get on?" Lynda asked, impatiently. "Now, I've devised a buddy system where we will each pair up to quiz each other on our non-specialist subjects. This ensures a well-rounded approach."

"You know who's well-rounded?" Spike asked Frazz. "That girl in the fish and chip shop on McIntyre Road."

"I know the one," Frazz smirked.

"We have a week until the trivia night," Lynda continued loudly, "So I would expect you would be meeting with your buddy every night to bone up."

Spike and Frazz snickered uncontrollably and Lynda rolled her eyes.

"Don't you think you're taking this too seriously, Lynda?" Julie asked. "It's supposed to be a bit of fun."

"It will be fun!" Lynda protested. "Winning is fun!"

Colin stood up. "If I may say so, I support Lynda completely. We should be doing all we can to win. It will be good publicity for the paper and an excellent team building exercise."

"Thank you, Colin," said Lynda, surprised.

Colin inclined his head respectfully and sat down again.

Sarah raised her hand. "Lynda, I've got that major article on youth allowances to write this week. I can't – "

"So study economics," Lynda snapped. "I've put you with Colin."

Colin brightened. "Hey, Sarah! You've hit the jackpot. You won't regret it, I promise."

"I'm already regretting it," muttered Sarah.

Lynda continued with her buddy system. "Now, I've got myself and Kenny, Frazz and Julie, Spike and Tiddler . . ."

"Objection, your Honour!" Spike called. "No offence, Tids."

Tiddler looked disappointed.

"What is it, Spike?" Lynda sighed.

"Well, Tids is already across music and TV as part of her 'youth stuff' 'core capabilities'," Spike did even more elaborate quote fingers as he spoke. "So don't you think we need to pair up with someone to drill us on our weaknesses?"

"Fine. Swap Tiddler with Julie."

"Well, that would be fine but Julie's 'pop culture' 'celebrity' 'core capabilities' also 'overlap'."

"It's going to be hard for you to continue doing that with broken fingers," Lynda snarled. "Whatever. Swap with Kenny, then."

"Done," agreed Spike, swiftly.

Lynda looked at her list. "Damn!"


	3. Chapter 3

After the meeting, Lynda returned to her desk and began editing articles from her in-tray.

"Lynda!" A wily-eyebrowed face appeared at her shoulder.

"What is it, Colin?"

"Not here. Let's walk." He looked shiftily around the newsroom before slinking out towards the door.

Lynda sighed and got up to follow, despite her better judgement. Colin was annoying theatrical at times but occasionally did land a decent lead or rumour so required humouring.

He was outside, leaning against the wall of the Junior Gazette building, affecting a nonchalant pose and chewing a toothpick. Lynda stood opposite, arms folded.

"Well?" she asked.

"Hwwd ylk t grntee vtry frra jna zet inna trv nt?" he mumbled from the corner of his mouth without looking at her.

"What?"

"Hwwd ylk t grntee vtry frra jna zet inna trv nt?"

"Are you speaking Welsh?" Lynda asked, impatiently.

Colin gave up and spoke normally. "How would you like to guarantee victory for the Junior Gazette in the trivia night?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Colin? And take that toothpick out of your mouth, it's disgusting."

Colin reluctantly obeyed and flicked the offending item into the street.

"I've got connections up at the college," he said.

"So?"

"So I happen to have an insider on the trivia night organising sub-committee."

"And?"

"And . . . I'm working on a little sweetener to get a copy of the questions before the night!" Colin beamed. "Brilliant, eh?"

"Absolutely . . ." Lynda began.

"I knew you'd love it, kid," Colin smiled. "Smells like victory, doesn't it?"

" . . . positively, one hundred percent NO, Colin," she finished, firmly.

Colin was momentarily taken aback and confusion showed plainly on his face. "But . . .!"

"But nothing! Did you honestly think I would condone something like that?"

"You want to win, don't you?" Colin asked, puzzled. "I thought we were aligned here. Singing from the same hymn book."

"Yes, I want to win," said Lynda. "But not like that. Idiot." She stormed back into the building, flinging open the double doors. Spike managed to leap back just in time to avoid being battered.

"Hey, Boss! What time did you want to start boning up tonight?" Spike grinned.

"Drop dead and die, Thompson," Lynda retorted, marching back to her desk.

"But I need practice," Spike said, following her.

"Practice on yourself. Why break the habit of a lifetime?"

"Come on, Lynda." Spike parked himself on Lynda's desk which he knew she particularly hated. "Say yes and I'll go away."

Lynda gave a deeply aggravated sigh.

"Fine. My house, six-thirty. Bring Trivial Pursuit."

"Deal!"

* * *

The doorbell rang and Lynda bit down hard on the pencil she was chewing. Now she had to put up with Spike's idiotic remarks for the evening. She heard the front door open and the sound of footsteps up the stairs before a knock at her bedroom door.

"Lynda?" Marion Day poked her head into the room. "You have a guest."

"No, I have Spike," Lynda sighed, picking a pencil flake off her tongue. "Bring him in."

"He's downstairs. I wasn't sure if - you didn't tell me you were expecting company?"

Lynda sighed and addressed the ceiling. "That's because he's not company. He's Spike."

"Lynda," her mother twisted her fingers awkwardly. "You know you can be honest with us. Are you and Spike seeing each other again . . . ?"

"No!" Lynda shouted, resolving to step up the hunt for her own flat immediately. Living at home did have its advantages but the downfalls of no privacy and continued parenting were fast becoming apparent.

"It's just that he's brought Trivial Pursuit . . . well, I mean, he doesn't look like the kind of person who plays Trivial Pursuit."

"For your information, he's hot stuff on Sports," Lynda snapped.

"Hey, thanks, Boss!" Spike sauntered into the room. "One day I might even beat you. Gotta work on my browns though."

"Right. Well, I'll leave you two to play. I mean, err . . ." Marion beat a hasty retreat downstairs, mumbling something about cups of tea. Spike spun the box in his hands.

"Bags blue," he said.

"Orange," replied Lynda, wearily.

"Does anyone actually choose to be brown?" Spike wondered as he opened the box and set out the board and pieces. Scooping up the die, he rattled it between his cupped hands. "Highest goes first?"

"Wait a minute," said Lynda. "You can't just have your pieces of pie scattered everywhere like that."

"I like them scattered," Spike replied, looking at Lynda's orderly pie, parked neatly in her corner of the board.

"It's annoying!"

"No, what's annoying is when the wedges go into the playing piece upside-down and you need a butter knife to get 'em out."

"True," Lynda agreed.

Spike rolled. "Huh. One."

Lynda shook the dice and rolled. "Ha! Six! A sign!"

"A couple more sixes would be a more appropriate sign," Spike grinned.

Lynda opened her mouth to shoot back a retort but then suddenly sat bolt upright and then began scrambling for the phone.

"What?" Spike asked, alarmed. "Are you going to call in your minions with the pitchforks? Shall I get a priest in so I can confess and be absolved?"

"We've got nobody on the Bible!" Lynda yelped. "Quick, who's more religious – Kenny or Sarah?"

"I dunno, Kenny? He was talking about church halls the other day . . ."

"Good, good," Lynda punched buttons furiously. "Kenny, it's me. What's your Bible knowledge like?" She paused. "'Know thy enemy'. That's hilarious. No, really?" Kenny obviously then started explaining because Lynda's next words were, "Okay, fine. I don't need chapter and verse. Just brush up on it before Friday."


	4. Chapter 4

Lynda's stress levels were permeating the whole office of the Junior Gazette.

"I found her in the toilets, crying," whispered Laura to Sophie, nodding in the direction of a clearly distraught Julie dabbing her eyes in the graphics room, "because she couldn't remember the names of all five members of Take That."

"And did you see Frazz?" Sophie asked. "He was leaning back on his chair, mumbling to himself."

"What's so unusual about that?"

"His eyes were OPEN!" Sophie declared emphatically.

Laura's own eyes widened in surprise. "Wow, he must be really stressed out."

"I know. And Spike walked in this morning, made only one crack about how good he looked and Lynda didn't even look up."

Laura shook her head. "I hope things go back to normal soon. I don't see what the big deal is about trivia nights. It sounds boring."

"Colin's going, though," said Sophie. "He's really up for it. Keeps giving pep talks to the team. He's as keen to win as Lynda is."

"You know why, though, don't you?" Laura asked.

"No, why?"

Laura whispered in her friend's ear.

"Ohhhh!"

* * *

The team had gathered again in the meeting room on Thursday afternoon at Colin's request. Colin himself stood at the front of the room with a small cooler.

"Thanks for coming everyone. I know you've all been cramming and working really hard towards this event, so I appreciate you taking the time out to –"

"Get on with it, Colin," snapped Julie, irritably chewing on her usually-immaculate nails. "I've got the latest copies of OK!, Hello! and Heat I need to memorise."

"I can tell all of the preparation for this event has taken its toll so I'd like to make a small presentation to the team," Colin continued, and opened the cooler, distributing the contents around the table.

"Brain Toniq? What's this?" Sarah frowned at the small can Colin has just presented her with.

"It's the world's first organic, kosher, botanical-based, low glycemic, non-caffeinated think drink! It's absolutely the latest thing in functional beverages. And no," he added, hastily, seeing the expression on the group's faces, "It won't stain your face."

Sarah was clearly still sceptical. "What is it meant to do?"

"Enhances focus and clarity. Banishes brain fog. I have some literature . . ." he handed out some printed sheets which listed ingredients and testimonials.

Spike had already cracked his can open and taken a large swig.

"Idiot!" Julie said. "You're just going to trust him on this? Does the word 'Quila' mean nothing to you?"

"I never had the pleasure of tasting Quila, unlike some others I could mention," Spike replied pointedly, taking another gulp. "But Brain Toniq I have had before. It's American. Health-food shops sell it. It's huge in California."

"Did he pay you to say that?" Lynda asked.

"No, but I wish I'd thought to offer a sponsored testimonial," Spike replied.

"And are you giving it or selling it to us?" Tiddler asked, suspiciously. Colin looked hurt.

"This is absolutely free. My gift to the team. My uncle is considering becoming a local distributor. He had a few cases shipped over to try it out. The whole organic natural market is really booming. And he totally learnt his lesson with the whole Quila suit a few years back. Nasty business."

"Really?" Kenny asked. "You're giving us these for nothing?"

"Absolutely. No charge or cost now or later. I will take my payment from the joy of knowing my team members are at the height of their mental prowess. Just your thanks will be adequate recompense. And frankly, I'm hurt and appalled you can even suggest . . . "

"Calm down, Colin," Kenny replied, seeing that Colin was ramping up into one of his melodramatic speeches. "Well, thanks, then. It's a nice gesture."

"Anything for the team," Colin smiled, and opened his own can. "And while it is performance-enhancing, I don't think it makes it onto the banned substances list."

Lynda had opened her can and was sniffing it suspiciously. "It smells okay. "

"Fruity, eh?" Colin said. "That will be the agave syrup and natural citrus extracts. Cheers!"

The rest of the team looked at each other, shrugged and began sipping at their cans. Spike had already finished his, crumpling his can and lobbing it into the bin.

"Now," Colin said, when they had finished, "if I could just get you to fill out these quick market research forms . . . it shouldn't take more than twenty minutes."


	5. Chapter 5

Norbridge Community College had been setting up for their main fundraising event for most of the afternoon. Trestle tables were unfolded, seats arranged, audio and visual equipment was checked. Urns were filled with hot water and set up next to tea and coffee (50p a cup). Buckets and raffle tickets were placed on each table along with pens and answer sheets.

The first competitors began arriving at 6pm for a 6.30pm start. First, that is, besides the Junior Gazette team, who Lynda had marshalled to arrive at 5.30pm to "stake out the venue".

"We're on table 10," she said, pointing to the seating plan at the door with a pencil like a general preparing troops for battle. "The last table. That's good. If they have one of those stupid things where you have to go around the room and take a turn in doing something or making noise, we have the upper hand in knowing what's to come."

"I'm going to kill her," muttered Julie to Sarah. "I'm going to force that pencil down her throat. Sideways."

"Rescue Remedy?" Sarah offered Julie the small bottle.

"Me or her?" Julie asked, grimly.

"Another thing we need to be aware of is volume," Lynda continued. "Nothing worse than knowing the answer to something tricky and everyone shouting it out loud and giving it away to other teams. Anyone who yells the answer out will have to pay a fine. Everyone will have a pen and scrap paper so write the answer down if you have to."

"Who is going to scribe?" Tiddler asked.

"Kenny, he's got the neatest writing," replied Lynda. "And I've placed him in the middle so he can be accessible to everyone."

"Lynda, is there any point reminding you this is supposed to be fun?" Kenny asked.

"None whatsoever," Lynda said, brightly.

The doors opened at that point and people were allowed to file into the hall . . . "Finally!" Lynda muttered, giving the side-eye to the organisers, and stalked ahead. The rest of the team has already exchanged weary glances at each other and followed suit.

"Here's our table. Everyone remember your places," Lynda instructed, bossily. "No, Kenny – you're next to Frazz. Tiddler, you're at this end. Sarah, start writing our table number and team name on all the answer sheets."

"Colin, you registered the team name, didn't you?" Sarah asked. "What did we decide on? I missed that meeting."

"I think I know," Kenny said, picking up the sign in the centre of the table. "Table 10 – 'Team Toniq, proudly sponsored by Brain Toniq, the world's first organic, kosher, botanical-based, low glycemic, non-caffeinated think drink' ".

Everyone looked at Colin who looked slightly guilty.

"I brought drinks for everyone," he said, defensively.

"And why is there a copy of the Junior Gazette at each place?" Julie asked, picking up the one at her seat.

Colin grinned. "Ah. Now, that's a nice little bit of publicity for us. They let us put a copy of the paper at every seat because we're a sponsor. Look, we're on the Rules sheet." He pointed to the Junior Gazette logo printed on one of the pages in the middle of the table.

"How much did that cost?" Lynda demanded.

"Negligible," Colin replied. "We ran some ads and we'll have an article in the next edition. All favourable for us. 'The Junior Gazette is proud to support the local community', that kind of thing."

"Not bad, Colin," Kenny said grudgingly. Lynda reluctantly nodded her approval.

Soon, everyone was seated according to Lynda's liking and more teams began occupying the other tables, laughing and chatting amongst themselves, opening plastic containers filled with home-made biscuits and unwrapping plates of sausage rolls.

"BYO supper. Now why didn't we think of that?" Frazz complained.

"We did," Julie glared. "Or we were supposed to." She and Sarah were opening Tupperware boxes. Tiddler was setting out some cheese and biscuits. Colin had brought along his cooler full of Brain Toniq and even Spike contributed two packets of Jaffa Cakes, albeit slightly crushed. Frazz felt hastily in his pockets and produced a packet of chewing gum.

All eyes were then expectantly on Lynda.

"I can't be expected to remember everything," she snapped.

Julie had opened her mouth to retort and then caught sight of someone chatting at another table. She leaned over to Kenny and whispered "Hey, isn't that . . . ?"

Kenny looked and nodded. "I think so."

"It is," added Frazz. "Definitely."

Spike scowled. "Unfortunately."

"He's coming over!" said Julie, gleefully. "This is almost worth it, now."

"Who?" Lynda turned around to see and ran straight into a tall, blonde man.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said politely and then looked again. "Wait a minute, it's Lynda, isn't it? Lynda Day?"

Lynda regarded him coolly. "I'm sorry. Have we met?"

"You don't remember me?"

"No. Should I?"

"It's James! James Armstrong! We, errr, dated." He chuckled and rubbed his hair in a way that was supposed to be endearing but really looked like he was merely scratching at his slightly thinning scalp.

"Did we?" Lynda affected a look of surprise. "How odd, you don't seem my type at all."

James looked slightly flustered. "Err, yes, well, it was a few years ago now, I suppose. Well, I was just doing the rounds . . ."

"Still?" Spike remarked.

"I'm one of the organisers – I'm over at Table 7. Don't worry!" He held his hands up in a gesture of innocence, "I haven't seen the questions so I'm allowed to play."

"Still?" Spike repeated.

James looked over at him. "Oh, hi! It's Spud, isn't it?"

Spike favoured him with a paint-stripping look and cracked the knuckle of his thumb. James adjusted the collar of his shirt.

"Well. Err, just wishing all of you luck, then."

"Thanks," said Kenny and Sarah, unable to help themselves from being polite. Lynda had sat down again and began stacking the pieces of scrap paper.

"Right. Well. I'm introducing the quiz master, so I'd better . . . " James excused himself hastily and went to the lectern at the front of the room. He picked up the microphone and tapped on it.

"Is this thing on? Can you hear me at the back?"

"Yes," came the chorus, with the obligatory "No!" from some wag.

"I'd like to welcome you all to our trivia night and thank you all for coming. You're helping to raise money for the college and we really appreciate it. If I could now introduce our quiz master for the evening, all the way from Radio Sherrington, The Phone Ranger!"

A collective groan came up from Team Toniq's table.

"I can't believe that guy is still on the radio," Spike said in disgust. "What a loser."

"Hello guys and gals!" The Phone Ranger boomed into the microphone. "Thank you for having me, it's a pleasure to be here! First up, some housekeeping and a quick run-through of The Rules! You'll find a sheet at your desk . . ."

The rules and format of the night were explained, fire exits and toilets indicated and sponsors thanked.

"Are you ready? Brains flexing? Pens poised? Then let's begin! Our first category for the night is 'The Sound of Music'."

Spike made a big showing of stretching, cracking his knuckles, rolling his head around on his neck like a prize fighter about to step into the ring.

"Question one. Released by New Order in 1983, what is the best-selling 12 inch single of all time?"

Spike scoffed. "Easy." He murmured the answer to Kenny. Kenny nodded and wrote it down.

"Question two. 'The Man Who Sold The World', 'Hunky Dory' and 'Black Tie, White Noise' are all albums by which veteran English performer?"

"Got it," said Kenny, scribbling away.

The questions continued, the team murmured and huddled and discussed. The only team member not contributing was Lynda. This was not unusual as Lynda's musical knowledge extended only to a secret fondness for ABBA which did not make it into the round of questions.

The round ended and scoring began as the answers were read out. Spike was confident.

"Full points for that one," he said. "Not many would have picked up that one about Geri Halliwell. Well done on that one, Tids."

Tiddler beamed.

"The next round is 'Take Me To The Movies'," said the Phone Ranger. "First question. How much does it cost per bag to feed the birds in 'Mary Poppins'?"

Everyone around the table bent immediately to whisper to Kenny, except for Lynda who was frowning.

"What kind of a question is that?" she asked.

"An easy one," replied Tiddler. "Don't you know the song . . . oh, never mind."

'Question two. How many gigawatts of electricity are required to power the DeLorean for time travel in 'Back To The Future'?"

"What the hell is a gigawatt?" Lynda asked in disbelief.

"Lynda, shhh!" Sarah hissed.

Team Toniq also performed well in the second round and the first leaderboard was displayed during the break which also included a round of games and information about raffle prizes.

"Second! That's not bad," Julie said, encouragingly.

Who's first?" Lynda demanded, straining to see.

"Urgh. Table 7!" Spike replied. They looked over to see James jokily shadow-boxing towards them.

"Prat," said Kenny, forcefully.

"The next round of questioning," said The Phone Ranger, "is called 'Television – The Drug Of A Nation'. Question one. In the long-running serial, 'Doctor Who', what does the acronym TARDIS stand for?"

Kenny scoffed and wrote the answer down without anyone's input.

"Question two. Some say his tears are adhesive and if he was set alight, he would burn for a thousand days. All we know is, he's called . . ."

Other table members couldn't help themselves and finished the sentence aloud to general laughter.

"Well done, you lot, anyone not know that? Well, you do now!" The Phone Ranger joked.

Lynda didn't know it and was clearly becoming increasingly annoyed as the questions continued.

"Where are all the proper questions?" she asked during the next break. "I thought this was supposed to be technical and challenging?"

"Oh, I can help you out there," James Armstrong popped up next to her. "We had feedback that a lot of people felt excluded in the past so the quiz organisers tried really hard this year to make the questions accessible to a broader audience." He smiled affably. "No point making it only fun for the brainiacs, is there?"

"So we dumb it down to the lowest common denominator?" Lynda asked.

"And look at how well we're doing!" James grinned. "There's only a point between our two tables. Exciting, eh? Tough round coming up at the end. Double points too."

He clapped Lynda heartily on the shoulder and went to rejoin his team.


	6. Chapter 6

"Now," said The Phone Ranger. "You will have noticed on your table, there are two sheets of paper with some pictures on them. The first has famous - or infamous - faces on it. The other has album covers with the album name and artist removed. These are bonus rounds and a chance to get some extra points! So pass them around the table and see how your team does with the visual clues. The sheets will be collected at the end of the next round."

Spike picked up the album cover sheet and instantly began filling out the answers. Julie and Tiddler picked up the famous faces and did likewise.

"Let me see," Lynda craned her neck over. "Well, that's Albert Einstein . . ."

"Got that one," replied Tiddler

"And that's Margaret Thatcher."

"Yeah, we've got it, Lynda," Sarah said.

Frazz leaned over and pointed. "That's George Best."

"Good one, Frazz," said Tiddler, writing it in.

"George Clooney," supplied Julie. "When he was really young."

Lynda sat back in her seat as the pages were circulated around the table.

"This one is driving me nuts!" said Spike, pointing to the last album cover. "I know it. I know I've got it. What is it? Argh!"

Julie looked over and laughed. "I know that one. That's Wham!"

"Uh, yeah. You're right. Did I say I had this? I meant, I used to have it. When I was a kid. Someone gave it to me. Actually, it was my Mom's. Yeah."

The next round was played and the bonus sheets handed up for scoring. During this break, the raffle prizes were drawn.

"First prize is this lovely gift hamper from our friends at Butterworth Department Store. Valued at 200 pounds, my friends. You would have seen it on the way in. Top quality stuff, as you'd expect from Butterworth's. This is a very nice prize indeed." He delved into the large bucket that held all the raffle tickets and swished it around.

"And the winning ticket . . . actually, there is no winning ticket, I've decided to keep it for myself."

Groans from the crowd.

"Just kidding, folks," he continued, pulling a ticket out of the bucket. "It's a purple one. D-92!"

An excited squeal from the winner at Table 2 who leapt up to claim the huge gift hamper.

"I think she likes it," said The Phone Ranger. "I haven't heard squealing like that since my wife – aha, but that's probably not a story to be shared with you lot." He plunged his arm into the bucket again. "Second prize is a lovely dinner for two at La Brasserie. Blue ticket. B-78."

Cheers from Table 8 as the winner brandished his ticket happily.

"Oh, too bad," said The Phone Ranger. "He'll have nobody to go with, not with hair like that. Any lady want to do their bit for charity and go along to dinner with the Ginger Ninja over here?"

Everyone laughed except the girl seated next to him, who was clearly a partner of some kind.

"Our third prize is this lovely gift basket thanks to our friends at Norbridge Health and Beauty. It's a green ticket. T23."

"Hey, that's me!" Spike jumped up. "What was the prize? I wasn't listening."

"You'll see," grinned Kenny.

"Ah, there's a bit of work to be done on that head," said the Phone Ranger as Spike made his way up to the front. "Best of luck to you, son." He handed the pink basket over to Spike who accepted it triumphantly, holding it aloft like a world cup and brought it back to the table.

Julie peered into the basket. "Ooh! Organic vanilla and orange peel hand lotion! I'll have it."

Spike clutched his basket protectively. "All mine! The ladies will love it. I'll have my bathroom pre-stocked with top quality goodies and they'll think I'm really thoughtful."

"That's if there's any room in there next to all your hair product," said Lynda, rising to the bait. "And they'll have to fight you for the mirror."

"That was the best bit about dating you, Lynda," Spike replied. "The mirror was all mine, all the time."

"And now, for our final round of questioning," said The Phone Ranger, breaking up the back and forth. "Bit harder, bit trickier. But worth more to you – it's the Random Double Points Bonanza! First question, what type of rotary engine would you find inside a Mazda RX-8?"

Frazz and Spike snickered as they wrote the answer down. Lynda leaned over to see what was so funny.

"That's disgusting. If you don't know the answer, say so."

"It's right," Frazz protested. "Honestly."

"What chemical element is at number 10 of the Standard Periodic Table of the Elements?"

Everyone began counting off on their fingers.

"Heh-lee-leb-k'noff-n'nahm gall-sip-sickle," said Tiddler, promptly.

"What?" asked Kenny.

"Call a priest! She's speaking in tongues!" Spike joked.

"No, seriously," She wrote it down. "HHeLiBeBCNOFNeNaMgAlSiPSCl. It's a mnemonic. Didn't Mr Warnest teach you anything?"

"Good one, Tids," said Kenny. "So what's the tenth?"

"Umm . . ." Tiddler counted along the lines of letters. "Neon!"

The answers for the final round were passed in and the judges worked at tallying the scores. The scoreboard had not been revealed for the last three rounds so as to create drama and mystery. Finally, The Phone Ranger approached the microphone. After a bit of a spiel about the money raised, thanking the sponsors again and generally drawing out the anticipation, he got down to business.

"In third place, with a very respectable 59 points, it's Table 4!"

Cheers went up from Table 4 and polite clapping from the rest of the room. The organisers presented Table 4 with a box of Quality Street each.

"And now, in second place . . . well, let me tell you, folks, there is no second place at the moment!" He paused for effect to oohs and aahs from the audience.

That's right! It's a draw! We are tied between Table 7," (cheers from table 7) "and Table 10!" (groans from Table 10) ."And you know what that means . . . we need . . . . a tie-breaker!" The Phone Ranger was milking it for all he was worth. "Could we please have a representative from Table 10 and Table 7 to join me up here for the tie-breaker round?"

The tables immediately went into a huddle formation to choose their representative.

"I think it should be Lynda," said Spike.

"Don't patronise me." Lynda sulked. "I've been completely useless so far."

"Go on, Lynda," Julie encouraged. "You go. It's bound to be something hard."

"Tie breakers are always tricky," advised Frazz, sagely.

"It will be a 'Who Am I?' type question where they give you clues," predicted Kenny. "It's always an author or an artist. Go on, Lynda."

Spike started chanting and the others joined in. "Lynda! Lynda! Lynda!"

"Would you shut up?" Lynda hissed. "Nothing, I repeat, nothing . . ."

"We have our rep from Table 7!" The Phone Ranger announced to cheers. James Armstrong waved to the crowd and did a little victory shuffle.

Lynda stood up like a shot and stalked to the front of the room.

"And here we have our rep from Table 10!" More cheers and continued chant of "Lynda! Lynda! Lynda!" from Table 10.

The Phone Ranger was peaking. "Now, you two, we want a good clean fight, a fair fight . . ."

"Good luck," snorted Frazz.

"Winner takes it all!" The Phone Ranger continued. "Arrre youuu reaaaadddy?"

James and Lynda both nodded.

"Bring out the tie-breaker!"

Laughter erupted from the crowd as two of the organisers brought out a long pole held horizontally that had two large cinnamon donuts dangling from it by a string. They stood on chairs either side so that the donuts hung down in front of James and Lynda.

"Okay, competitors! Hands behind your back. First to eat the donut completely, without dropping it on the floor, WINS!"

Table 10 stared, aghast. Lynda's face had murderous intent written all over it.

"On your marks."

"What have we done?" Tiddler moaned.

"Get set."

"I can't watch this," Sarah whispered.

"GO!"

The crowd cheered and laughed as both competitors started batting the donuts around with their faces, trying to get purchase. James managed to take a good bite and started to chew frantically. Lynda saw this and stepped up her efforts, managing to take a small chunk out of the bottom. James had finished his mouthful and was nudging his donut around, trying to get another. Lynda continued nibbling away at hers.

"Come on, Lynda!" Kenny shouted. "This is no time to be delicate!"

Lynda shot him a furious glance.

Spike stood up and shouted through cupped hands. "He's gonna take you, Boss!"

Lynda looked sideways at her competitor. Unfortunately for James, he tipped her a wink.

"Chopsticks!" Spike called. "Remember the chopsticks!"

"Right," Lynda said, through a mouthful of donut. Stepping on James' foot, she launched at the dangling donut, ripping it completely away from its string. She now had the whole thing hanging from her mouth.

"Don't drop it!" called Colin, frantically.

Lynda leaned back and proceeded to wolf the remaining donut in a backbend position, hands-free, gulping it down before throwing her hands in the air and opening her mouth wide to prove it was all gone.

"We have a winner!" The Phone Ranger yelled excitedly. "Table 10 takes it home!"

"Well played," James said, sticking out his hand. Lynda deliberately wiped the cinnamon and sugar from her face before shaking it firmly. She returned to her table to cheers and claps.

"Well done, Lynda!"

"Way to go, Boss!"

The organisers came over to hand each of them an envelope with "First Prize" written on it.

"Oooh, what did we win?" asked Lynda, ripping hers open excitedly and taking out the small printed card inside.

"A year's subscription to the Junior Gazette?" she read in disbelief. Colin beamed and nodded.

"Brilliant, eh? Why do you think I wanted us to win so badly? We look great by donating the top prize and we get some free publicity. Then we win, and it doesn't cost a cent!"

Lynda nodded, slowly. "Brilliant. Yeah. Well done, everyone."

"So all that hard work was for nothing?" Julie demanded.

"Nothing? We won, didn't we? That's all that matters," Lynda replied.

Frazz looked wistfully at Table 4 enjoying their Quality Street and Table 7 who had been given caps and water bottles from the local hardware shop. Even Table 1 who had come stone cold last were waving around their wooden spoons proudly. Other teams were packing up, laughing and ribbing each other, clearly having enjoyed a good night out.

"Not winning looks like more fun," he said.


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh, we can't end on that note," said Spike, breaking the gloom. "This isn't an After School Special. Come on, we're all standing around like we're at a funeral. Let's go celebrate James Armstrong losing at something for once!"

Lynda brightened. "You're right! Let's go."

Later that night, after celebratory drinks, only Spike and Lynda remained in the pub. Lynda was laughing at Spike as he performed a dramatised re-enactment of the tie-breaker round.

"And then, you're like this . . . " Spike said, bending over backwards exaggeratedly, ". . . and the crowd cheers and he's all 'What?' and trying to grab hold of the donut that's just swung around and hit him in the eye . . ."

Lynda was gasping for breath. "No! Stop!"

"And you just gulp that donut down like nothing and take it out." Spike finished with a victory stance, arms aloft before flopping down onto the couch next to her. "What an effort."

"At least I managed to contribute eventually," she replied.

"So the questions didn't cover your core capabilities," Spike shrugged. "So what?"

Lynda shrugged back. "You know me."

"Yeah," Spike nodded. "I do. And do you know what else I know?"

"What?"

"I know this quiz night isn't the only thing James Armstrong lost." He looked at her meaningfully. "Whaddya say, Boss? Wanna move on to the next round?"

Lynda regarded him thoughtfully. "Speaking of moving . . ."

"Yeah?"

"Want to help me look for a flat this weekend?"

Spike looked puzzled, then dubious. "What does real estate have to do with it?"

"Privacy," replied Lynda. "Can't have my boyfriend over to stay at Mum and Dad's, can I? I've only got a single bed."

Spike grinned. "Bonus round!"


End file.
